


Stillness

by Dracorex



Series: TLC [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Dominance, Non-Sexual Submission, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sort Of, non-sexual bdsm, probably, there is a remarkable economy of speech in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracorex/pseuds/Dracorex
Summary: Huath has trouble processing his tangled mess of emotions. Scourge helps.





	Stillness

According to the chronometer, it was the dead of night. 

It was the middle of the night, and Huath was shaking. He clenched his fingers, gripping at folds of the blanket, and tried to stop panting. But the mere thought of calm reminded him of his nightmare, and another shiver ran violently through him. It had been a nightmare of nothing. Worse, far worse, it had been an awareness of the nothing, of no thing, of being disembodied in an endless void and knowing that he would know nothing, even if all the galaxy had died. And they would, they would, Kira and all the Jedi and all the useless unfortunates Huath spent so much of his time trying to protect and save, if he was trapped unknowing while the Sith Emperor....

Huath’s fingers worried at the cloth under his hands. It felt warm and supple and slightly rough in an oddly pleasant way. He didn’t know how to deal with the fear; the thoughts chased around his head, the not-knowing and the burning eyes of the Sith and the cold gleaming metal of the fortress, the fortress he had escaped only because of Master Orgus - and Lord Scourge.

He shuddered again, practically doubling over. Trying to distract himself with his physical senses was just drawing up more sense memories, of vast impatient malice, of unexpected warmth and hope, of the ancient hunter’s patience that even now lurked in the cargo bay, out of sight but not out of mind. 

The young man lurched out of bed, stepping out of his room on unsteady bare feet. Even the dim yellow lights of the corridor were enough to make him squint his eyes, but they failed to quiet the thoughts still skittering wildly through his mind. Funny how he was freaking out now, as opposed to two days ago when he’d argued with Scourge and nearly come to blows and then he’d let the Sith lay hands on him and _reach down_ and- 

And he had been afraid, but he had been curious too, and hated his curiosity, and Scourge was so uncaring - emotionless, unable to feel, he’d claimed - that as much as Huath knew that there was no way Scourge liked him or gave a damn, he could almost believe that Scourge equally did not mind that he was afraid or a total mess. At any rate, the Sith hadn’t spoken to him since, but neither had he looked at Huath with contempt or pity, had still looked at him with practically unblinking eyes and a patient curiosity, as if nothing had happened.

Huath had no idea what he wanted, but he didn’t want it to simply be nothing. He really didn’t like the idea of anything being nothing right now. Even Kira wanted him to figure out what this was, and she had been really calm about it despite the fact that she had every right to be angry at him.

He was standing in front of the cargo hold door. He remembered the short walk down the steps, at least. 

The door hissed open. Scourge sat on the edge of his pallet bed, watching him. As Huath stared, unable to feel surprised, the Sith slowly rose to his feet and stepped forward to stand in the middle of the room. He was wearing loose black clothes that covered nearly as much skin as his armour; he was barefooted like Huath.

They regarded each other in silence. Huath was conscious of his own breathing; the air in each deliberate inhale and exhale felt thin. Scourge looked as grim and stern as usual, but Huath felt no irritation from him, only avid interest and a cautious tension he did not have words for. He did not have words for much of anything at the moment. What was he doing here? What did he want whatdidhe _want_ -

“Come here,” Scourge said. His voice was quiet, yet firm.

Huath put one foot forward carefully. He was experiencing a strange sense of vertigo. Another step. And another. Scourge watched him, unmoving, until the door hissed shut behind and Huath jerked to a stop, raising a hand reflexively.

Scourge reached out and took Huath’s wrist in a firm grasp.

It was a tight grip, but not painfully so. Scourge’s hand felt warm through the sleeve of his shirt. Huath stared at those dark red fingers, and felt something loosen slightly in his chest. It was something to focus on; it felt _real_.

Then Scourge pulled, shifting his grasp as he did so, his other hand taking Huath by the shoulder and turning him. Huath found himself being held with his back pressed against the Sith Lord, one arm wrapping around him, still gripping his wrist so that his own arm was folded over his chest.

The hand that had been on his shoulder shifted to take him by the throat.

Huath hadn’t felt any aggression. Didn’t sense any threat. Scourge had moved just slowly enough that it was clear he wasn’t attacking, but with no hesitation. He thought he could feel his pulse throb under the Sith’s firm grip. 

He felt… grounded.

He would not have described it as such earlier, but now it felt like he had been almost floating, too large for his skin, and the firm hold he was being held in was settling him back into the present, pressed up against Scourge’s torso, barely able to think further than the large hand holding him by the throat. He felt exposed and vulnerable, and yet there was something in the dim stillness of this, how Scourge stood silent and unmoving behind him, that felt…

Not safe. Huath wasn’t sure that was the right word. Stabilising, maybe.

Like there was nowhere else he was supposed to be, like the only thing expected of him was to stand quietly and allow himself to be restrained like this.

He still did not know what exactly Scourge was feeling. He sensed no annoyance, no impatience, not even amusement, only an acute awareness, as though Scourge’s full attention was on him and nothing else. It didn’t even seem like the Sith Lord was expecting anything in particular.

Huath breathed. He wasn’t sure what else to do, anyway; there was a definite deliberation to what Scourge had done - was doing - and even though everything was dark and silent-

-this was _not_ nothing. This was warmth and pressure and being unable to ignore the other man’s presence.

Huath breathed, and wondered how in the stars could a Sith’s hand pressed against his throat feel _comforting_.


End file.
